


I Can't Hide

by orphan_account



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Lennon/McCartney week, Tim finally connects with a song. And the guest mentor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Hide

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this premise is total crack, and such a rare pairing it doesn't exist.

"Hi, Tim! It's nice to meet you."

Tim knows he's got that deer in the headlights thing that he's constantly accused of going on at the moment. 'Starstruck' doesn't begin to cover it. Despite the implications of the judges and the press, he's not stupid. Idol's a singing contest, yes, but it's also a game show, and he's been trying to play the best he can. He's done his research, read what he could, watched lots of clips as soon as he got through to Hollywood Week. But he's pretty sure that compared to the talent of the mentor, never mind being in the same league – his voice isn't even in the same universe. Nor are any of his fellow contestants, he thinks, knowing he's being a bitch in his head, but honestly, he's pretty sure that Idol has been permanently changed, thanks to this man.

He gulps. "Hey."

The look he gets is curious and questioning. Tim knows he's got to get it together, so he holds out his hand. He's met with a firm grip, a much larger hand engulfing his. Tim's never thought of himself as small, about average really, but now he's feeling intimidated by the sheer size and aura of the week's mentor. And the man isn't even dressed up. He's just wearing jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, just like millions of other guys are at this very moment.

Another thing he doesn't lack is courage, and right now, he's afraid he's being judged as being a homophobe or something. So he bends his arms and ducks into a quick hug. Arms surround him, strong and sure, and then release him.

"So, what were you thinking of singing this week? Lots to choose from!"

Tim nods. He's put a lot of thought into it, and contrary to popular opinion, he is aware of the strength, or lack thereof, of his instrument. He knows he needs a song that won't test either the limited range of his voice or his limited breath control, but will still pack an emotional punch.

"I Want to Hold Your Hand. The Across the Universe version."

He grabs the piano, nerves suddenly getting the better of him. He wonders why on earth the producers picked this man for the mentor of the Lennon/McCartney week. He's not a singer that anyone would picture in the context of the Beatles. His buddy is one that comes to mind, but not him. Tim keeps his thoughts to himself, because he really doesn't want to look like more of a moron in front of the cameras.

"Really."

Tim nods. "Yeah, I like the slowed down ballad sense of it. Plus my range . . ." He decides that pointing out his own flaws to the voting audience isn't the best of ideas, so he shuts up. This is the last man to be talking about lack of range to anyway.

The mentor still looks like he can't quite believe Tim's choice. "The Beatles sung it as a very sassy, very confident request for someone. But in the movie, it was a lament, grieving for something that was never going to happen in that time and place."

"I know."

He gets another one of those sharp, assessing gazes. Tim forces himself to meet those too-clever blue eyes.

"Okay. But if you can't sell the emotion, the slower version is just going to be boring."

"I can," Tim responds. He's never been in love, but he knows what it is to want something you're never going to get.

"Let's hear it then."

Tim opens his mouth to sing, but what comes out doesn't seem to be under his control at all. He totally fucks it up. The hand that's still on the piano is shaking a little bit. He looks down at his shoes.

"Listen, you've proved you're not an idiot. You've got a good voice. Don't let your nerves get to you."

The next effort is marginally better, but Tim's never been more aware of the limitations of his instrument, especially not in comparison to such a magnificent singer like the mentor.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&lt;&lt;&lt;

Backstage before the performance, Tim wanders off. He hates all the cameras back there, but he's found all of them and knows where he can get some privacy. He tucks himself away and resists the urge to chew his nails.

"Still nervous?"

He looks up, a blush stealing over his face. Tonight, the mentor is in costume, his trademark eyes thickly lined and his hair rucked up like a rooster's comb. The clothes emphasize his long, lean body. Sparkles catch the light in his hair and on his face. Entranced, Tim finally realizes he's been asked a question.

"Yeah," he says, wanting to elaborate, but feeling out of his depth again. Fuck, he has nine siblings – he's not usually this bad about saying what he thinks.

"You look great," he adds, figuring that's pretty safe to say, since the whole world seems to agree with him that the mentor's beautiful.

That earns him another searching glance, as though the mentor's dissecting his emotions. "I make you nervous."

It's not even a question, but Tim nods. "Yeah, you're . . . you know. You."

"It's the gay thing."

"No!" Tim's shocked, but maybe he deserves it considering how he's been acting around the man. "I'm not like that. I promise. I mean, yeah, I'm from Texas, but Dallas is pretty liberal, you know. We have Pride and all. Duncanville is right outside Dallas. I'm from Duncanville."

Fuck, now he sounds just as mentally challenged as Kara insinuated he is. Tim stops talking. The mentor is grinning at him, blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I wasn't accusing you of being homophobic."

"Okay."

"Just the opposite. You're kind of cute."

Tim struggles with the concept. He thinks he's pretty ordinary, but he's aware that he might generally fit the mentor's type, which the whole world knows. Although he's severely lacking in the talent needed to make up for his lack of spectacular looks.

The mentor steps in closer, and his lips just brush Tim's ear as he whispers, "You know what always calms me down before a performance?"

Tim really, really wants to wrap his arms around those broad shoulders and just cling, but he's not quite sure that he's been given permission for that type of thing just yet. He leans in a little, because no way is he going to give the mentor the idea that he's not okay with the contact.

"What?" he says, voice just as low.

"An orgasm."

Hoping that the mentor isn't referring to some crazy mixed drink, Tim finally gives in and grabs the mentor's shoulders. His nerves have reduced him to a trembling mess, but all thoughts of having to perform later have pretty much fled his mind.

"It's okay."

Strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him in tightly. Tim lets himself be held, lets himself fall into the embrace. He's not sure where this is going, but he's happy enough to go along with it. His shaking slowly dies away and warm relaxation replaces it. The hands move from his waist, one going to his jaw to tilt his head up and the other palming his ass, pressing him firmly groin to groin.

Tim gasps, his body responding instantly to the contact.

"Shh."

Firm lips cover his and a tongue is already pressing into his mouth. The hand on his ass moves around until there's some space between their tightly pressed bodies and works the zipper of his pants down. Tim's not really sure what his own hands are doing, but he's trying not to mess up the work of art that's the mentor's face. Mostly he just holds on.

Cool air momentarily touches his dick, but then it's replaced by the warmth of a large hand, stroking him with quick sure movements. Tim is sure he's not going to last very long, not under these circumstances but he tries to hold off from coming embarrassingly fast. But then he worries that he's taking advantage of the mentor's generous gesture.

The mentor breaks off from his exploration of Tim's mouth. "Just feel what you feel."

Tim closes his eyes and tilts his head back. The mentor nibbles along his neck, small bites that won't leave marks. Tim finally lets himself go, hips moving with the strokes of the hand on his dick. The feeling builds up in his balls, pleasurable pressure.

"I'm gonna . . ."

"Yeah."

The mentor turns them slightly, but Tim can't think anymore, can't worry about _this_ performance, because his body's firmly in control at the moment. He bites his lip to keep his cries inside while his hips jerk.

When he opens his eyes, he can see that his jiz hit the nearby wall and not their clothes. The mentor licks his hand clean, while Tim watches dazedly, trying to get his brain back on line. The mentor pulls a square of soft cloth out of his pocket, wipes Tim off and then tucks him away. Tim wonders if the mentor is always prepared for situations like this. He can't stop staring at the beautiful face, inches from his own.

The mentor pulls him close briefly and they share a sweet kiss. Tim can feel the bulge pressing against him. He's sort of proud that he managed to cause such a reaction in this man.

"What about you?" he asks finally.

"I'm fine," the mentor answers. "Go out there and slay them, okay?"

"Yeah," Tim smiles. "I will."

&gt;&gt;&gt;&lt;&lt;&lt;

While he's waiting for Ryan to announce him, Tim notices that there's a small fleck of glitter stuck to his hand. A leftover from his encounter backstage. He's pretty sure he's never had glitter on any part of his body ever before.

Much as he might wish it, he knows that encounter is never going to be repeated. Sadness fills him, but he's never lied to himself, not about his talent, not about his chances, not about anything. He's not going to start now. He has a better chance of winning Idol than he has of ever being back in the arms of the mentor.

Walking out on stage, the piece of glitter catches the fierce lights, dazzling him. Tim stares at it. The music starts, but Tim can't stop looking at his hand. Finally, he raises his mike.

When he opens his mouth, he sings about a small town Texas boy, an ordinary man who was briefly touched by the raging heat of a shooting star and will never be the same. All the desperate longing that he's never been able to express suddenly flows out in his voice. The star will never be his.  
_ Oh, please, say to me  
You'll let me be your man  
and please, say to me_

_You'll let me hold your hand._  
His voice dies away on the final note, and Tim understands what the judges have been saying about connecting to the song. But there's dead silence and Tim thinks he's fucked it up.

Then the applause starts and he doesn't know what to think. He feels like he does every week when he hasn't been sent home. The noise dies away finally and he stares at the judges. He knows the mentor is in the audience, but Tim can't look at the man. He's afraid of how much he's already revealed and he can't let the cameras dissect him any further.

"Oh . . . my god," Kara says. "You actually listened to us. I had no idea you could even sing like that. That's what we've been trying to get you to do."

She turns around, gesturing to the audience. "And when you let yourself open up like that, see what happens? I think you finally understand."

"Thanks."

"All I can say, dawg, is that was dope. Man." Randy turns around. "Yo, Adam, great job mentoring this one."

The cameras focus on the mentor, who nods graciously. Tim looks down, eyes catching at the glitter again.

Ellen starts some rambling tale that Tim mostly tunes out. He hopes she doesn't come up and hug him again. He doesn't think he can deal with it at the moment. He's not sure he likes this feeling of being flayed open, even if everyone else does. He stares down at the glitter on his hand and nods his thanks whenever she finishes what she was saying.

"That was extraordinary," Simon says. "Uncomfortable, but extraordinary."

Tim meets Simon's gaze, seeing in those cool eyes the knowledge of what that song has cost him. He doesn't have the energy or the will to argue with the man.

"Maybe sometimes great art does make us uncomfortable," Ryan says coming up to Tim's side.

"I don't know about great," Simon responds.

"Anyway, if you want to vote for Tim, the number is . . ."

Tim tunes the rest of it out. He'll either stay or he won't. His life was already never going to be the same, but now he's not really sure he can handle it. The mentor will be there one more day, for the results show, but other than the glitter on Tim's hand and his unsettled emotions, he won't get anything else from the man.

But he picks his head up and finds his smile from somewhere deep inside himself. He didn't grow up one of a pack of children for nothing. _Teflon Tim._ Time to earn his nickname. No one is ever going to know how he really feels.

He keeps smiling.


End file.
